


In each of the places we meet, in all of the lives we are

by florescentia



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 14:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7897021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florescentia/pseuds/florescentia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you think we would have ever met?" Miller hears him utter. He opens his mouth, but then realizes he doesn't know how to respond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In each of the places we meet, in all of the lives we are

**Author's Note:**

> _I choose you, over and over again, day after day. In each of the universes, in all the versions of our lives and all the versions of ourselves, at any time, I’d always choose you. Over anyone and anything in this world, myself included. In a split of the second. In less than a heartbeat._

I  
He's holding Bryan's hand and it feels like enough.

  
  
II

His eyes are closed and he appears calm, but his thoughts are whirling around in his head all at once. Bryan is laying next to him, absentmindedly tracing lines on his arm with his free hand.

"Do you think we would have ever met?" Miller hears him utter. He opens his mouth, but then realizes he doesn't know how to respond. He doesn't even know where to begin. He only tightens his fingers around the hand he's holding. Bryan doesn't need him to say anything, he understands.

  
  
III

He thinks about it sometimes. From time to time, he dreams about it too. Bits and pieces of lives he might've lived if the missiles weren’t launched, in different circumstances and different places, Bryan the only constant that never changes. He never tells anyone about them.

  
  
IV

_They're wandering the cobblestone streets on an early Thursday morning and the sun is not yet up. He doesn't know the city they're in or direction they're going. He cannot tell if they're in Prague or Rome, or some other place. He doesn't know whether this is their hometown or they're just the tourists here. He doesn't care._

_Bryan is telling him something, but he's too focused on the radiant smile forming on his boyfriend's lips and a glint of playfulness in his eyes. Suddenly Bryan's slipping away, pacing in the other direction._

_He trails after him because he can’t do otherwise. Miller only ever knew to follow him._

_He races him all the way to some narrow street, his heart hammering against his ribs, his breathing ragged. The outline of the sleeping city around them is becoming clearer as the light changes its color. Bryan's lips are on his, his hands pushing Miller against the wall. A quiet laughter breaks the silence, followed by a litany of Bryan's name._

  
  
V

_There’s no one else in the store, except for a half-asleep cashier, who absolutely does not care what he’s doing in the fresh produce aisle at 10 o’clock at night. He hears Bryan long before he sees him coming towards him, those fuzzy duck slippers making a loud quacking sound with every step he makes. Miller has a feeling there’s a big chance that he was the one who bought them for him._

_“I don’t know you,” he says, pacing as fast as he can through the cereal aisle, Bryan laughing hysterically behind him. “We are NOT friends.” He turns around midsentence to punctuate the word, grabbing the nearest cereal box and throwing it into the basket. “We’re also out of milk, by the way.”_

_They’re at the fridges when Miller’s facade falls and the curve of his mouth suddenly lifts up. A f_ ew _seconds later, genuine laughter’s ringing out through the aisle, Bryan instantly joining in._

  
  
VI

It's a warm tranquil night, and they're alone in the Rover, driving north. He's staring out of the window, thinking about all the things he wants to say, but never does. Words that get stuck in his throat. Silent reveries. Emotions and sensations he never formed into words. Fears that catch him in the quiet hours of the night. The possibility of a brighter future he's so reluctant to dream.

"Maybe in that universe we're together, regardless." Miller catches the quiet whisper, only to realize it came from him.

Bryan looks at him lovingly. "We are. In each of the universes, in all of our lives," he says reassuringly. "That's how it always will be."

  
  
VII

_They're standing in the kitchen, arguing about something he can't remember. He feels a cynical and well-constructed comment almost slipping out of his mouth, but he bites it back when something starts throbbing inside of his chest. He has a feeling there's something eerily important he needs to remember _—_ _something_ he knew before, in another time and another place, but his mind is suddenly a blank page. Noticing a strange shift in Miller's behavior, Bryan tries to decipher what's going on, his frustration rapidly replaced by a confusion that soon evolves into concern._

_Nothing makes sense anymore, but the moment he feels Bryan's hands cup his face while he's gripping his gray shirt, somehow everything falls back into its place._

  
  
VIII

One night he is pulled back into consciousness right in the middle of his dream, the memories of it still inwrought in his mind. Their legs are intertwined and Bryan is solid against his chest, wrapped in profound sleep. He puts his arms around him, feeling Bryan's ribs rise and fall rhythmically underneath his fingers. The realization hits him hard as his eyelids flutter and his breathing calms down.

 

IX

It echoes through his mind and he knows it's the absolute truth. It's an epiphany, but at the same time, it's not. It's an infallibility he always knew, the feeling that crept up on him in the moments of sheer happiness, when they were both nonchalant and free, when the life was rough, but also simple.

No place on Earth has a sense of harbor to him anymore, but every time he rests his palms on the hollow of Bryan’s neck, he feels like he’s found his home.

*

There's a sense of calm and freedom about Bryan, even in the midst of a raging storm. There’s comfort and warmth in his embrace that can cast away the shadows in the detritus of his soul. There's innocence in his hands that can smooth the lines of worry on Miller's forehead. There’s a strong sense of hope in his gaze at the end of the day.

He acts like he slightly takes it all for granted, but the truth is far from it.

 

X

There is still a faint flicker of sorrow in Bryan's eyes sometimes, and in the way he kisses him at night, as if he's afraid Miller will disappear in the morning. Miller wants to tear those fears apart, but he doesn't know how, so he only holds onto him tighter.

  
  
XI

_He's sitting on a D train going from Coney Island, a backpack on his knees. He doesn't know what he's put in it, but he's rummaging for his headphones, fairly sure they're somewhere in there. It's late in the afternoon, but the train is somehow nearly empty. He's staring at the window, his mind miles away. The sun is dwindling in the sky over Brooklyn so slowly that he barely notices._

_The train lurches to a stop, but Miller stays, watching a few people get on and off._

_*_

_Miller's making himself comfortable, music blasting in his ears, when the train slows. People file in and out, but the train is still half-empty. Another stop. A stranger gets on at 34 Street, wearing a red hoodie, clutching a book in his hands. Miller doesn't see him. Someone sits right across from him as the train leaves the platform, but he doesn't open his eyes. His instincts betray him one minute later when he cracks his eye open and is met with messy brown hair and a pair of soft brown eyes. His breath gets caught in his throat and his heart skips a beat._

_*_

_Miller tries to think of something to start a conversation. **There's something about you that feels calmly familiar,** he wants to say.  **A feeling of homeyness. Placidness.** He stays silent._

_*_

_He probably should have gotten off the train long ago, but it dawns on him that he isn’t sure what his stop is. He doesn't care. The stranger is still in the seat across from him, head buried in the book. The train already reached the Bronx. Miller doesn't know why he doesn't say anything. Minutes pass. He wants to memorize the contours of the stranger's face, the sound of his breathing, the texture of his lips, but he realizes they're already etched in his brain. He doesn't question how or why._

_*_

_Brief eye contacts turn into long gazes. The stranger not once turns the page of his book._

_*_

_Someone touches his shoulder, feather-light. Caught in the whirlpool of his own thoughts, it takes him a couple of seconds to register it. The stranger is fondly smiling down at him, moving towards the exit. The train pulls to the Kingsbridge Road stop. Miller follows._

  
  
XII

There are times when he feels like all that is left of hope is gone. Flashes when he wants nothing more but to give up and drift off into nothingness. Instants when the last atoms of strength are leaving his bones.

There are moments when his heart is swelling with love and there's not a thing he regrets. Episodes of overwhelming serenity when nothing else exists except for the two of them.

There are also fleeting hours or minutes of normality and domesticity. Everyday routines he can't see himself doing with anyone else in the world but Bryan.

Miller automatically searches for his hand then, but Bryan's hands are already grazing his, ready to clasp them together.

  
  
XIII

He's holding Bryan's hand, fingers intertwined with his, and he knows it's enough.

**Author's Note:**

> _"and that’s the only hope. that I could be for you what you are for me."_  
> 
> * * *
> 
> Big thanks to [Kay](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thanksforthecrumb) for beta reading.


End file.
